m, succeeded and
let Trevors drive him, drive until again his back was to a wall.

"Run away, will you?" panted Trevors. "I've got you, damn you. Got
you right."

Lee didn't answer. He was thinking dully that Bayne Trevors was near
telling the truth, that Bud Lee was almost beaten--almost. That was as
far as a gentleman ever went--just to that desperate "almost beaten."
Not quite. No! not quite. Never that.

Both men were nearly spent; Carson saw that while he cursed softly in
his corner; Melvin saw it and watched for the end, wondering just how
it would come. Trevors should swing for the point of the jaw, put all
that was in him into a final, smashing blow, beat through an
insufficient guard, do it now, quickly. For both Carson and Melvin saw
another thing, a thing which both had sensed at the outset: Bud Lee was
harder than Bayne Trevors. Lee, slipping away at every step was
getting something back which had nearly gone from him; Trevors was
breathing in noisy jerks; save for the vital fact that he now had two
hands to Bud Lee's one, Trevors was showing more signs of weariness
than Lee.

"Bud'll get him--somehow," whispered Carson. "Good old Bud. Somehow."

What Carson and Melvin sensed Trevors knew. He saw that Lee was having
less trouble in eluding him now, that Lee's feet were quicker, lighter
than his, that Lee was beginning to strike back viciously at him, and
when the blow landed, Trevors's big body rocked, shot through with
pain. There came to him the thought which was Melvin's, but it came in
Trevors's way: Now, quickly, before Lee was ready for it, must come the
end. So, for the third time that day Bayne Trevors, with much at
stake, resorted to "what weapons God gave him, what weapons he could
lay his mind to, his eyes to, his hands to"--his feet to. Resorting to
the old trick which came up from South American ports in disreputable
windjammers, which is known to the San Francisco waterfront, he raised
a heavy boot, striking for Lee's stomach, seeking with one low,
horrible blow to double up his already handicapped antagonist in
writhing pain on the floor.

"An' I gave my word!" bellowed Carson, the sweat on his own tortured
brow. "Oh, my Gawd."

But just that one brief instant too late did Bayne Trevors lift his
foot. For Bud Lee had expected this, never had forgotten it, had
prayed within his soul that the man he fought would use it. Just by
that fraction of time which has no name w